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Ah, what a strange feeling it was to be going home when it was not home, and to find that every object I looked at, reminded me of the happy old home which was like a dream I could never dream again.

Men det sovende barn lyste av sunnhet; hun var hvit i ansiktet, men det var rundt og friskt som perler; litt mutt og egensindig så hun ut, selv nu når hun sov, og de lyslette, lange øyefrynser skygget ned på kinnets runding. Den korte, rette nesen og hakens brede bue talte om stivsinn eller hugfasthet – hun var for ung til at en kunne si om det var det ene eller det annet.

Den ene hånden hennes hang utenfor over sengestokken – det så umakelig ut. Varsomt tok Olav datterens hånd, la den oppunder barmen. Brystene hennes rundet seg fast og fint under kjolens røde ull så splitten gapte og det syntes, hun hadde utsydd bringeduk under snøringens sølvlenke. Også på ermene var denne kledningen blitt for liten til henne nu – et langt stykke av håndleddet stakk frem.

Olav stod og så på sin datter, til han kjente han frøs i morgenkjølen med bare en kappe om seg. Så tok han opp de små, røde skoene; de var mørke av væte, av bunnvannet i båten vel – faren satte dem opp på kanten av den iskalde åre.

Ut av setstuens dør trådte hans far, fulgt av søsteren. Faren var helgekledd, i fotsid grønn kjortel med sølvbelte om midjen, han gikk sønnen imøte rank og verdig. Han var nyrakt og nykjemmet, om det firskårne, stengrå ansikt med de blodsprengte lyseblå øynene bruste hans vakre hår. Det var fullkomment isgrått nu, med drivende gullhvite flaker oppå i lokkenes myke bølgefall. Eirik hadde alltid tenkt seg Gud fader den Allmektige i sin fars lignelse.

This is the land I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it till now.

[...], having invariably observed that of all human weaknesses, the one to which our common nature is the least disposed to confess (I cannot imagine why) is the weakness of having gone to sleep in a coach.

Das läβt denn Don Quijote sich schlieβlich gefakken und steckt dasselbe Taschentuch, womit er sich den Käseschweiβ abgetrocknet, als Siegeszeichen auf seinen Speer, worauf der davongelaufene Sancho, der es von ferne sieht, sagt: 'Ich will sterben, wenn mein Herr nicht die wilden Bestien überwunden hat, denn er ruft uns dort.' Es ist wonderfull.

If I had any dout of him [i.e. the waiter], I suppose this half awakened it; but I am inclined to believe that with the simple confidence of a child, and the natural reliance of a child upon superior years (qualities I am very sorry any children should prematurely change for wordly wisdom), I had no serious mistrust of him on the whole, even then.

Alles, was Don Quijote sagt, ist gut und vernünftig, aber alles, was er auf Grund davon tut, unsinnig, tollkühn und albern; und fast hat nab den Eindruck, als ob der Dichter das als eine natürliche und unvermeidliche Antinomie des höheren moralischen Lebens hinstellen wollte.

Mr Dombey and the Major found Mrs Skewton arranged, as Cleopatra, among the cushions of a sofa: very airlily dressed: and certainly not resembling Shakespeare's Cleopatra, whom age could not wither.

RITA
Der var rosenrøde skærme over begge lamperne. Og vi var alene, vi to. De eneste vågne i hele huset. Og der var champagne på bordet.

ALLMERS
Den drak jeg ikke noget af.

RITA sér bittert på ham
Nej, det er sandt. (lér skarpt) 'Du havde champagne, men rørte den ej', - som skrevet står.

Das Abenteuer mit dem Löwen ist unstreitig der Höhepunkt von Don Quijotes 'Tathandlungen' und im Ernst wohl der Höhepunkt des ganzen Romans - ein herrliches Kapitel, mit einem komischen Pathos, einer pathetischen Komik erzählt, die die echte Begeisterung des Dichets für das heroische Narrentum seines Helden verrät. Ich las es gleich zweimal, und unaufhörlich beschäftigt mich sein eigentümlich bewegender, groβartig-lächerlicher Gehalt.

'What have we got here?' he said, putting a fork into my dish. 'Not chops?'
'Chops,' I said.
'Lord bless my soul!' he exclaimed, 'I didn't know they were chops. Why, a chop's the very thing to take off the bad effects of that beer! Ain't it lucky?'
So he took a chop by the bone in one hand, and a potato in the other, and ate away with a very good appetite, to my extreme satisfaction. He afterwards took another chop, and another potato; and after that, another chop and another potato. When we had done, he brought me a pudding, and having set it before me, seemed to ruminate, and to become absent in his mind for some moments.
'How's the pie?' he said, rousing himself.
'It's a pudding,' I made answer.
'Pudding!' he exclaimed. 'Why, bless me, so it is! What!' looking at it nearer. 'You don't mean to say it's a batter-pudding!'
'Yes, it is indeed.'
'Why, a batter-pudding,' he said, taking up a table-spoon, 'is my favourite pudding! Ain't that lucky? Come on, little 'un, and let's see who'll get most.'
The waiter certainly got most. He entreated me more than once to come in and win, but what with his table-spoon to my tea-spoon, his dispatch to my dispatch, and his appetite to my appetite, I was left far behind at the first mouthful, and had no chance with him. I never saw anyone enjoy a pudding so much, I think; and he laughed, when it was all gone, as if his enjoyment of it lasted still.

Finding him so very friendly and companionable, it was then that I asked for the pen and ink and paper, to write to Peggotty. He not only brought it immediately, but was good enough to look over me while I wrote the letter. When I had finished it, he asked me where I was going to school.
I said, 'Near London,' which was all I knew.
'Oh! my eye!' he said, looking very low-spirited, 'I am sorry for that.'
'Why?' I asked him.
'Oh, Lord!' he said, shaking his head, 'that's the school where they broke the boy's ribs - two ribs - a little boy he was. I should say he was - let me see - how old are you, about?'
I told him between eight and nine.
'That's just his age,' he said. 'He was eight years and six months old when they broke his first rib; eight years and eight months old when they broke his second, and did for him.'
I could not disguise from myself, or from the waiter, that this was an uncomfortable coincidence, and inquired how it was done. His answer was not cheering to my spirits, for it consisted of two dismal words, 'With whopping.'
The blowing of the coach-horn in the yard was a seasonable diversion, which made me get up and hesitatingly inquire, in the mingled pride and diffidence of having a purse (which I took out of my pocket), if there were anything to pay.
'There's a sheet of letter-paper,' he returned. 'Did you ever buy a sheet of letter-paper?'
I could not remember that I ever had.
'It's dear,' he said, 'on account of the duty. Threepence. That's the way we're taxed in this country. There's nothing else, except the waiter. Never mind the ink. I lose by that.'
'What should you - what should I - how much ought I to - what would it be right to pay the waiter, if you please?' I stammered, blushing.
'If I hadn't a family, and that family hadn't the cowpock,' said the waiter, 'I wouldn't take a sixpence. If I didn't support a aged pairint, and a lovely sister,' - here the waiter was greatly agitated - 'I wouldn't take a farthing. If I had a good place, and was treated well here, I should beg acceptance of a trifle, instead of taking of it. But I live on broken wittles - and I sleep on the coals' - here the waiter burst into tears.
I was very much concerned for his misfortunes, and felt that any recognition short of ninepence would be mere brutality and hardness of heart. Therefore I gave him one of my three bright shillings, which he received with much humility and veneration, and spun up with his thumb, directly afterwards, to try the goodness of.